Chapter 13 — Oil and Water #2
Maya bit her lower lip to keep from moaning. The sensation was overwhelming. The heat of the sun above, the heat of his hands on her back, the scent of the oil… it was sensory overload. She felt herself melting, losing the edges of herself, becoming nothing but a surface for him to touch.
“Ethan…” she whispered against the towel.
“Quiet. Let me work.”
His hands moved down to the middle of her back, reaching the spot she couldn’t touch herself. He rubbed the oil in wide, slow circles. The friction generated more heat. Her skin felt like it was catching fire—but a good fire, a liquid fire.
Then he reached the horizontal strap of the swimsuit.
The black strap cut her back in half. Any other man would have stopped there. Or awkwardly tried to work around it.
Ethan didn’t stop.
He slid his fingers underneath the strap.
Maya stopped breathing.
The sensation of his calloused fingertips touching the sensitive, pale skin hidden beneath the fabric was electric. He lifted the strap slightly, just enough to spread the oil beneath it, ensuring there’d be no tan lines—or perhaps just testing how far she’d let him go.
He traced her ribs with his thumbs, feeling her ribcage expand and contract with her shallow breathing.
“You’re so thin,” he said, his voice edged with dark disapproval. “I can feel your bones. We’re going to change that. I like softness, Maya. I like curves my hand can grip without worrying I’ll break something.”
He withdrew his hands from under the strap and continued downward.
The lower back. The small of her back. That soft valley just above her buttocks.
It was a neglected erogenous zone, but Ethan seemed to know the anatomy of pleasure better than any doctor. He pressed the heel of his palm against the base of her spine, applying firm, slow pressure that sent shockwaves straight to the center of her belly.
Maya buried her face in the towel. She was aroused. Terribly, undeniably aroused. The friction of her body against the towel, the pressure of his hands, the heat… everything conspired to betray her.
His hands moved lower.
The swimsuit was cut high in the back. The exposed skin extended down to where her buttocks began to curve.
Ethan didn’t hesitate. He covered the exposed skin with oil. His hands were large enough to span almost her entire lower back and part of her hips. He squeezed the soft flesh of her hips—a possessive squeeze. Mine.
“Turn over,” he said.
The command cut through the fog of pleasure like a bucket of cold water.
Maya lifted her head, dazed, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead.
“What?”
“Turn over onto your back. I need to do the front.”
“I… I can do the front,” she stammered, trying to roll away from him. “I can reach the front.”
Ethan held her shoulder. Not with enough force to hurt, but with enough weight to hold her still.
“It wasn’t a request, Maya. The oil is on my hands. I’m not going to waste it. And I don’t want blotches.”
He pulled her slightly, helping her turn.
Maya rolled onto her back. The sun hit her face, blinding her for a moment, until Ethan’s shadow fell over her again.
She felt infinitely more vulnerable in this position. Face down, she could hide in the towel. On her back, she was exposed. The black swimsuit, with its cutouts, seemed to cover nothing. Her breasts rose and fell rapidly with her ragged breathing. Sweat glistened on her chest, on her stomach.
Ethan looked at her. He didn’t bother hiding it. He looked at the gleam of sweat on her cleavage. He looked at the curve of her hips. He looked at the frantic pulse in her neck.
“Open your legs,” he said.
Maya clamped her legs together, crossing her ankles.
“No.”
Ethan sighed, a sound of controlled impatience.
“To put oil on your thighs, Maya. Don’t be childish. If I wanted what you’re protecting so ferociously, I would have already taken it. I have the key to your room, remember?”
The brutality of his logic made her uncross her ankles, but she kept her knees together.
Ethan knelt on the deck beside the lounge chair. He didn’t care about his expensive suit pants touching the ground.
He placed his hands on her shins. Slid upward. Knees. Thighs.
The sensation of his hands moving up her legs was excruciating. He was methodical. He covered every inch of skin with the golden oil. Her skin gleamed now, slippery and aromatic.
When he reached her upper thighs, near the crease of her hip, Maya held her breath. He was dangerously close. His thumb grazed the edge of the swimsuit where it met her thigh.
He stopped.
He didn’t go further. He moved his hands to her stomach.
He massaged her abdomen, feeling the muscles contract beneath his touch.
“Relax your stomach,” he murmured. “Stop holding your breath.”
He moved up. Ribs. The sternum.
And then, he reached her chest.
The swimsuit had a strap that covered her nipples but left the tops and sides of her breasts exposed.
Ethan spread the oil across her décolletage, along her collarbone. His fingers were gentle here, almost reverent. He traced the line of her collarbone, outlining the shape of the bone beneath her skin.
Then his hands descended.
He placed his hands on the sides of her breasts, thumbs resting on the outer curves, grazing the black fabric.
He could feel their weight. He could feel their shape.
Maya looked at him. Ethan’s face was tense. The mask of indifference had vanished. A line of sweat beaded on his forehead. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were fixed on hers, dark and stormy.
He moved his thumbs. Slowly. Caressing the side of her breast, grazing the soft skin that spilled from the swimsuit.
It was too intimate a touch. It wasn’t medical. It wasn’t aesthetic. It was sexual.
Maya’s heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could feel the vibration through his fingertips.
“Your heart…” Ethan whispered, his voice hoarse. “It’s running a marathon.”
“You scare me,” Maya whispered back. It was half true. He did scare her, yes. But he also made her want things she shouldn’t want.
“No,” Ethan denied, giving a slight shake of his head. “Fear is cold. You’re burning, Maya. You’re so hot I could burn in these flames.”
He moved his hands a millimeter inward. Now he was holding her breasts, molding them with his palms, the swimsuit fabric the only barrier between his skin and hers.
Maya’s nipples hardened instantly, visible through the thin, sweat-dampened fabric.
Ethan looked down. He saw the reaction.
He made a low sound, a growl trapped in his throat.
He leaned forward. His face descended toward hers.
Maya parted her lips. His scent enveloped her, drowning out the smell of the oil. She wanted him to kiss her. God, she wanted him to kiss her, to tear off that ridiculous swimsuit and take her right there, under the midday sun, on top of the glass tower.
Ethan’s face was inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her lips.
“You want this,” he stated, low and dangerous. “Say you want it.”
Maya looked into his eyes. Submission was on the tip of her tongue. Yes.
But then, Ethan stopped.
He closed his eyes for a second, his face contorted in a mask of pain or extreme control. His hands squeezed her breasts hard, once, an almost painful grip, and then… he released them.
He pulled away abruptly, rising from his kneeling position as if he’d been burned.
Cold air invaded the space where his body had been.
Maya blinked, dazed, feeling the physical loss of his touch like an amputation.
Ethan was standing, looking at her. His chest rose and fell rapidly beneath the white shirt, which was now transparent with sweat, clinging to his body. He looked at his own hands, glistening with oil, as if they were covered in blood.
“Ethan?” she called, her voice trembling.
He shook his head, backing up a step.
“If I don’t stop now…” he said, his voice thick, unrecognizable. “I won’t stop. And I’m not going to break the contract over a little sun and oil. I’m not an animal.”
He looked at the pool. The blue water, motionless, inviting.
“I need to cool off,” he said. “And so do you.”
Without taking off his shoes. Without taking off his expensive suit pants. Without taking off his fifty-thousand-dollar watch.
Ethan turned and walked straight to the edge.
He dove.
Splash.
The water exploded in a spray of white diamonds, breaking the silence of the terrace. His body cut through the surface, disappearing into the cold blue.
Maya lay on the lounge chair, her body covered in hot oil, her skin vibrating, her heart beating erratically. She looked at the waves spreading across the pool, destroying the perfect reflection of the sky.
She was on fire. And there wasn’t enough water in the world to extinguish what he had just ignited.